


i can't wait to be your number one, and you'll be mine (but i wanna break your heart / make you cry)

by idiotmugwump



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Holding Hands, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Mentioned Myra Kaspbrak, Panic Attacks, Psychosomatic Asthma, The Derry Townhouse (IT), The Leper (IT) - Freeform, attempted blowjob, no happy ending, this IS a book/miniseries fic but i want clout., uhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24316105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotmugwump/pseuds/idiotmugwump
Summary: Eddie is waiting for the elevator when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around, fully expecting to see the clown. It’s just Richie, thank god.“Richie,” Eddie lets out the breath he was holding, “You scared me.”“I’m sorry.”“You don’t have to leave because I did.”“I know, I just…” Richie swallows, “Do you wanna go back to my room? I have a bottle of wine, we can talk. Reminisce and shit.”-----------------rewrite of my old, orphaned fic
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	i can't wait to be your number one, and you'll be mine (but i wanna break your heart / make you cry)

Eddie Kaspbrak is tired. Don’t get him wrong; seeing his childhood friends after nearly 30 years is great, he really enjoys being in their company again. But that doesn’t change the fact that the last couple days have been extremely emotionally taxing. He left his overbearing wife, who was more or less a carbon copy of his mother, (Fuck you, Freud) in the dust, abandoned the limosuine business he’d spent nearly a decade building, and finally, returned to his chilling hometown to most likely die fighting a monster that he’d somehow completely forgotten ever existed. Something about Derry air, he thinks, is bringing back this flood of memories.  
And on top of all of that, he’s seeing his childhood friends again, which seemed like a great idea at the time. But now that he’s back in Derry, all his memories with the Losers are coming back to him along with the rest and… it’s a lot. He remembers things that didn’t exist to him at all before he came back to Derry; the dam he and the rest of the Losers built in the barrens, the time Henry Bowers broke his arm, the entire Loser’s Club crushing on Bill Denbrough at some point or another, Mr. Keene trying to tell him his medicine was fake, and so much more.  
One boy from these memories sticks out a little more than the rest; Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier. Eddie doesn’t know exactly why he stands out so much, he was friends with all of them. That boy now stands across the room, much older than the last time they saw each other, but somehow just as devastatingly charming. Not in a conventional way; Richie never was one to be considered conventionally attractive; but he’s attractive in his own way. They had always been close—not as close as he and Bill, but close nonetheless. Richie had annoyed the everloving crap out of him but he couldn’t help but be fond of the bespectacled boy at the same time.  
Richie’s different from the last time he saw him, which makes sense; it had been 27 years since he saw Richie last. But, it’s still weird to see how well he’s aged. The mop of reddish hair he had in his childhood has faded to a pleasant auburn color; he’s somewhat grown into his buck teeth, which earned him the nickname “Bucky Beaver” in his childhood; he’s swapped out his massive Coke bottle lenses for contacts, (Eddie assumes) which put his baby blue eyes, framed with smile lines now, on display without being fogged over by smudgy lenses; he’s filled out, obviously, not a gangly kid anymore but a tall, angular man; the cord shorts complete with scabbed knees (Eddie remembered bandaging those knees about every other day in the summers,) and too-big tee shirts he wore now replaced with khakis and a well-fitted blue jacket. His smile is still the same though, a lopsided, mischievous thing. The whole look, the awkward-cute boy he once knew who had grown into the attractive man in front of him, is overwhelmingly endearing to Eddie.  
That is, until he starts annoying Eddie just like when they were kids. But, if Eddie’s being honest, that’s adorable too. He pretends it annoys him, like when they were kids, but he secretly loves it, loves how quickly they fall back into their routine. Richie is currently sat on the threadbare sofa next to Eddie, arm sprawling lazily around Eddie as Mike and Bill retell stories from their childhood. Richie had always done this too, he seemed to crave physical closeness from his friends—mostly from Eddie, but also Bill, Ben, and Mike.  
“This has been great, really,” Eddie says during a lull in conversation, “But I’m… emotionally drained. I think I’m gonna go to bed.” He stands up from the couch and walks over toward the elevator. He’s waiting for the elevator when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around, fully expecting to see the clown. It’s just Richie, thank god.  
“Richie,” Eddie lets out the breath he was holding, “You scared me.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“You don’t have to leave because I did.”  
“I know, I just…” Richie swallows, “Do you wanna go back to my room? I have a bottle of wine, we can talk. Reminisce and shit.”

Richie fumbles with the lock for a moment before he manages to open it. He holds the door open for Eddie, entering the room after he does. It’s identical to Eddie’s room except for an overstuffed suitcase that has seemed to explode in the corner of the room. Eddie sits on the bed awkwardly, folding his legs underneath him.  
“Red okay?” Richie asks over his shoulder, peering into the mini-fridge.  
“Uh, yeah.” Eddie answers dumbly, feeling caught off guard despite wine being the reason he came up to Richie’s room.  
Richie pulls a bottle of wine out of the mini-fridge and grabs two wine glasses from the counter and plops down on the bed next to Eddie, handing him a glass.  
“Thanks, Rich.” Eddie says, holding his glass out as Richie nods and pouring a generous amount of wine in Eddie’s glass and then his own.  
“Uh, to Stan.” Richie grimaces before he clinks his glass against Eddie’s and takes a hearty swig, which Eddie copies. The wine is a bit more sour than he had anticipated, probably because he only has wine once in a blue moon, on his date nights with Myra, and even then it's always the cheapest bottle at the supermarket; it gets caught in his throat and he chokes.  
Richie tenses, clearly wanting to help Eddie but not quite sure how. He settles for resting a hand on Eddie’s back.  
“Shit. Please don’t have an asthma attack.” Richie says, panic tinging his voice.  
“I don’t have asthma.”  
“You grew out of it?”  
“I never had asthma. My mom made it up to manipulate me.”  
“Oh…”  
Eddie nods and looks down into his glass.  
“What were the asthma attacks then?”  
“Anxiety.”  
“Oh damn. Pretty convincing if you ask me.” Richie tries to smile but fails pretty miserably, grimacing instead.  
Eddie taps an anxious beat into his glass.  
“I’m sorry, Spaghetti man. I thought this would be a lot easier than it is. I don’t even know what to say to you now.” Richie mumbles, looking down and then back at Eddie thoughtfully, as if remembering something important.  
“Oh shit!” Richie’s eyes widen in realization.  
“What?”  
“I had a crush on you. When we were kids.” Richie says, immediately seeming to regret it. Eddie feels like he’s suddenly been thrust into the spotlight as Richie flushes, trying to distance himself from what he said.  
“Wait Eddie, shit-”  
Eddie blushes himself and raises an eyebrow, “Really?”  
He searches Richie’s eyes for hesitation, a joke, anything. There isn't any. Richie nods. “Jeez, Rich. I-I guess I did too.” Eddie says hesitantly, “It’s 27 years too late, huh?”  
“Does it have to be?”  
“I- I guess not,” Eddie flushes more, averting his eyes, “Jesus Rich, you’re forward.”  
Richie smiles at Eddie, gently bringing a hand to cup his face. “Do you want me to stop?”  
Eddie shakes his head frantically, looking straight at Richie, who laughs.  
“God, you're still so goddamn cute, Eds. It’s not fair.”  
“Don’t call me that.” Eddie says instinctually.  
Richie giggles, “Right, I forgot.” He smiles at Eddie, looking into his eyes, “Don’t feel pressured to say yes, but can I kiss you?”  
Eddie knows he should say no. He has a wife. But he’s also stupidly attracted to the man in front of him.  
He nods before he can stop himself and Richie gently connects their lips.  
Eddie stiffens, hands curling into fists at his sides as Richie kisses him. Myra had never kissed him like this before, so passionately, so longingly. It’s foreign, but also just feels so right. Like this was meant to happen. Maybe it was.  
It still felt wrong, he shouldn’t be kissing Richie; he was a married man. He knows this. Something stops him from pushing Richie away though. Eddie makes a shocked noise when Richie bites at his lip and moans softly when Richie sweeps his tongue across his lower lip. Richie pulls away with a shit-eating grin and hooks his thumb onto Eddie’s bottom lip, drawing a short moan from him.  
Richie trails kisses down Eddie’s neck and he whines, tugging hopelessly at Richie’s too short hair. Richie resurfaces, pressing a kiss to Eddie's forehead.  
Eddie smiles, feeling warm and safe underneath Richie. He shivers when Richie kisses down his neck, moving lower. He doesn’t even realize what Richie could be doing down there until he realizes he’s unzipping his pants.  
(Come back here, kid! I'll blow you for free. Come back here!)  
Eddie kicks at Richie’s shoulders, sending him falling to the floor on  
his ass. He doesn’t have any time to worry about Richie though, before an asthma—no, panic—attack seizes him, making his throat close up.  
“Fuck Eddie, you could’ve just said no,” Richie notices Eddie’s harsh breathing and gets back up quickly, grabbing his hand, “Oh fuck, Eddie, come on man.”  
Richie’s eyes widen in realization, “Oh shit, the leper.”  
Eddie nods, trying to calm himself down.  
“God, I'm so fucking dumb, Eddie. I’m so fucking sorry, I legitimately forgot. Fuck Derry, man.”  
Eddie nods again, starting to giggle (but because he’s still having a panic attack, it's breathless and he ends up choking.)  
“Shit, should I do something?” Richie asks, rubbing Eddie’s hand with his thumb.  
“No… No, I’m - I’m good.” Eddie rasps out. He feels his panic attack starting to fade away as Richie holds his hand.  
“Wait you’re married?” Richie asks, eyes catching on the gold ring on Eddie’s left hand. Well, nevermind.  
“Yeah, I am-”  
“Is he hot? You deserve it, Eds,” Richie says quickly, “You deserve a fucking male model-”  
“Uh, she.”  
“She? Shit, I’m sorry Eddie, I thought-”  
“No, no, I uh-” Eddie winces, pulling his wedding ring off and toying with it, “I’m not- I don’t love her.”  
“Do you- do you like women?”  
“I dunno,” Eddie pauses, wondering if he would like a woman if she wasn’t Myra, “Probably not.”  
“Why’d you marry her then?”  
“I,” Eddie’s voice cracks and he feels tears building behind his eyes, shit, “I don’t know, I guess I don’t know how to not be manipulated by my mom,” tears begin to down his cheeks and Richie’s eyes flicker, arm hovering above Eddie’s shoulder, “That’s all she is; my mother. I-I just don’t know what to do.”  
Sobs wrack his small frame and Richie pulls him into his chest, hands finding their way to his blonde curls.  
“Shh… Eddie… Eddie don’t cry. Please.” Richie mumbles, carding his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, I’m so stupid. I shouldn't have said anything.”  
“I’m s-sorry.” Eddie cries.  
“No, no, no, don’t be sorry. Why are you sorry? You’ve just been put in a shitty situation. You’re doing great, buddy,” Richie mumbles into his hair, “I’m sorry.”  
“Why-why are you sorry?”  
“You don’t deserve this. And I made you cry.”  
Eddie’s heart flutters. He wipes his eyes and turns towards Richie, looking into his eyes.  
“You didn't make me cry. Shitty situation, remember?” Eddie tries to smile.  
“Don’t- don’t do that.”  
“What?”  
“Be cute.”  
“Richie,” he says, breathing deeply, “I’m married.”  
“Yeah? We’ve established that. It was a mistake, you said yourself, you don’t love her.”  
“That’s true, but… I don’t know, this feels wrong. Sorry Rich.”  
Eddie shakily stands up and starts towards the door.  
He clears his throat before he says, “Thank you for the wine Richie, but I can’t do this now.”  
Richie goes silent for a moment before following him to the door, “Eddie… I’m sorry, we can just talk, yeah?” He already knows the answer.  
“I’m sorry, Rich. I promise we can talk this out once we defeat It, but right now, I’m tired.”  
Richie thinks this over. While he’s thinking about it, Eddie walks out the door.


End file.
